No Hay Jueces en estas Páginas
by Zoach-Cee
Summary: Sombra, left alone after the omnic crisis had to fend for herself in a harsh, cruel world. Despite all the jokes, sarcasm, and smug grins, there always seemed to be something behind it. Someone who wasn't nearly as confident, wasn't nearly as self-assured, wasn't nearly as "fine" as she portrayed. Maybe a journal can help with that.
1. Chapter 1: What a weird place

This was a stupid idea. She knew better than this. It was such a stupid fucking idea _. ¡Qué inteligente soy!_

Somewhat distracted by her own thoughts, Sombra was on her way home from picking up some stuff from the general store. The usual stuff like _leche, huevos, arroz_ , and those dark chocolate bars that had a little peanut crunch in them. Y'know, the usual. Still, it wasn't all that she picked up. When she was picking up a container of salt, she spied a little black journal just laying on the shelf next to it. Just laying there, minding its own business in the wrong section.

She didn't give it much mind at first glance, but the presence of a notebook in the _pinche pasillo de condimentos_ gave her enough pause to take a second glance. And, just like before, she got a little amusement from seeing the misplaced item. For real, it was a fucking notebook in a food aisle. _¡Qué demonios!_ Did the owners just give up and start throwing shit anywhere they felt like? Or does this notebook secretly contain a spice she's never heard of? Weirdest shit.

It wasn't nearly as funny or strange as Sombra thought it was. Probably just left there by a customer sometime before she got there. But when you're incredibly effective hacker, working for an internationall terrorist organization, as well as wanted by unknown puppet-masters who have significant stake in every single global government, these small, weird, and uncomplicated moments are few and far between. Something about it just made her life seem simpler than it was. Something that made her feel a bit normal.

Still, she probably shouldn't be so fixated on something like this. It was just a fucking notebook. However, in the middle of that aisle, she just froze. She just stared at that black notebook. Stared at it's smooth, untarnished cover. She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to take it. Something deep inside was telling her that she needed to buy this notebook.

 _¡Dios mía! ¿Que estoy pensanda?_ The more she thought about it, the more she realized that this notebook was a terrible idea. It was, quite literally, a paper trail. Something that could easily be traced back to her. For someone who went through painstaking detail to remove all traces of herself from everything, she sure was thinking straight. This notebook would never bite her in the ass.

After setting down her belongings and putting away her groceries, all while trying to understand why she made such a stupid decision, she returned to her desk where the notebook was left.

 _Why did I buy this thing? ¿Estoy estúpida? This notebook will only leave actual physical evidence! ¡Bien hecho, Sombra! You're really trying to not get caught here._

Despite her inner protests, however, she didn't even attempt to throw this damn book away. It just laid in her hands, her worn tired hands, taunting her as she stared at its black cover. The semi-glossy finish reflecting a blurry image of Sombra's own face. And after staring at this thing for what seemed like ages, she could only go back to 5 words that kept repeating in her head:

 _Write down what you feel._

These five words have been circling in her head ever since she put the book in her basket. Like a fucking mantra that those psychiatrists ask people to repeat ad nauseum in the hope that if they keep saying something is true, then maybe it will be true. Despite all evidence to the contrary or any negative consequences that could arise. Even so, she kept returning to those five words.

 _Write down what you feel._

And, eventually, her better instincts got too worn out for her to say no to this stupid idea any longer. Even though her better instincts are what kept her alive all these years after the Omnic Crisis.

 _¡Me lleva la chingada! Yo podría también que lo hago._

Sombra opened the notebook to the first page, and then reached for a pen in a cup on the edge of her desk. After much consideration, she finally settled on what she wanted to actually say.

 **Hola, I guess. This is weird. I never really wrote about myself before, so I guess no sé qué necesito hacer. Been too busy, y'know, hacking governments and corporations for Talon. But it** **might help me feel a bit better** **might be good practice in understanding how I think, y'know. After all, if I know myself as well as I know other people, then I'll be fucking invencible. Nobody can fucking touch me!**

 **-Sombra**

Sombra sat up in her chair, leaning away from the notebook on her desk. After hunching over it to scrutinize her writing, she needed to give her back a break. Still, she felt a little proud of herself. Even though she never really did anything like this, it kinda felt good. Like a bit liberating. Like a bit of herself was no longer just inside her head, but somewhere else, expressed. Of course, no one else was gonna see this shit. She would make sure of that. It's why she made sure that her journal not include any trace of her real name, Olivia. That shit was just too compromising. She was Sombra now, and Sombra to remain.

But she did like the thought that this was her journal. Her own personal space. She could write whatever she thought, other people's feelings or opinions be damned. And only she would know about it.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.


	2. Chapter 2: It's odd, but comfy

Sombra surprisingly got accustomed to this weird journal. As far as she knew, she hadn't used a personal notebook since she was in elementary school. And that shit was like for math problems and drawings of dogs. Her life since the Omnic Crisis has been pretty hectic, y'know. First, you got to hack the local politician's computers to get personal info on him, then you got to sell that shit to _Los Muertos_ to, well, eat. But then you got to use the rest of that money to upgrade your deck and equipment, to avoid that whole getting detected situation and raided by the Mexican Government outcome. And that doesn't even begin to touch the fact that your dead parents probably need a better place to be buried aside from a ditch.

… Sombra paused when that thought crossed her mind. She inwardly chastised herself for bringing that shit back up. Then looked around her room, trying to get an overview so she could forget what just crossed her mind.

She really hoped that journal wasn't too obvious in her place, being the only thing close to paper surrounded by various cords and pieces of technology. It was kind of suspicious. For real though, it's like the first thing the cops would check, cause she doubted they were smart enough to crack through her encryption and data protection. Plus, _el burro sabe mas que ellos_ , who were probably looking for _un hombre_ since _una mujer_ could never have the facilities to threaten entire governments. Whatever, it played to her advantage. I mean, she was Sombra, world infamous hacker who no one could trace. All anyone knew about her was her calling card: a digital, purple skull modeled after the skulls _del Día de los Muertos._ Nobody had a chance to find her, and even if they did, she would be gone moments later. She was untouchable.

Which is why the fact that she kept that stupid journal around was baffling her. It's easily identifiable proof of her identity, and something that can't be immediately destroyed with a data wipe. She would have to take a ton of effort to destroy this evidence if it ever came up.

Yet, it's presence was comforting. Like she could just be herself with it. No judgement. No fear. And the tactile sensation of writing with a pen is just awesome. Feels more permanent and meaningful, y'know.

Speaking of which, it was probably time that she entered another entry into that thing. It was just about time to go to sleep.

 **Hey mi amigo del papel, ¿cómo estas?**

 **I just can't stop writing in you, and I don't really know why lol. Guess it's just too much fun.**

 **Well, shit has been bueno, since Talon gave me an advance on my payment. Now I got just enough saved up to get that new upgrade I've been talking about, ¿Sabes? That new procedure of eye implants that graft an auto-locator lens onto your iris without having to entirely replace your eye? Shit's sick. ¡Qué maravilloso! And I know that shit is pretty vulnerable to a lot of standard attacks, as it can be more easily interrupted by other decks and EMPs. But ¡me vale madre!, if they was gonna ruin your shit, they was gonna do it whether your gear is really vulnerable or just somewhat vulnerable.**

 **Plus, this shit's got eye color adjustment. I can make them gold, or black, or red, or some otra pinche color.**

 **But yeah, life's good.**

Sombra paused for a moment thing of what to say next in her journal. Probably nothing too significant after she just geeked out over that eye upgrade she really wanted. But, when looked down on that page, that thought she had earlier crossed her mind again. But this time she couldn't will it away. And the seductive blankness of the pages tempted her to just start writing again.

 **Thought about mami and papi again today.** **Probably should go visit them or something.** **Bring them some flowers or something.** **Do something.** **Lol who even cares. I got here all by myself. I don't NEED anything or anybody else lol. Talon is only as good as their money and resources. Got to figure out who those hijos de puta who fucked over my shit are. Those all-seeing-eye fucks.**

 **I got everything I need right here.**

 **-Sombra, the best hacker ever.**

Despite what the readable words in the journal might say, there wasn't a smile on Sombra's face. She wasn't necessarily angry, or sad, or disgusted. She just wasn't happy. But whatever, her journal said it all. She didn't need anything or anybody. She's the one who got local politicians to bend a knee to her. She's the one who _Los Muertos_ needs for all that information she gets. Hell, she's probably the reason why the local body modification people are even still eating. She's hot shit. She's important. She matters. And fuck anybody who says different, or brings up the fact that she was a poor child who lost everything when those _pinches robots atacaron._ That she had nothing. In fact, it shows how fucking great she is. She had nothing, and still became who she is.

After a billion raging thoughts raced through Sombra's head, she finally got up and threw the journal on the bed.

"Ugh! **¡** Necesito agua!" She blurted out loud, frustrated.

Leaving behind her notebook, some angst, and probably a few hairs from her head, she stormed into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She wasn't mad enough to break anything in here, but that didn't mean the thought didn't cross her mind. After all, she wasn't really mad. Just frustrated. Probably nothing serious. As long as she didn't bring it up again.

After refreshing herself and coming back to her desk, she looked over at the closed book, lying in the same place that she threw it. And even though no one else was going to read it, she felt a wave of shame creep across her body. She let her emotions get the best of her again, and she thought she grew out of that shit a long ass time ago. So, probably just for her own sake, she walked over and picked up her journal, opening the entry she just wrote. After finding her pen, she wrote a little addendum below it.

 **Lol, sorry got a bit carried away there. Thought I was over that shit. Well, it's not like it matters anyway.**

 **-Sombra**

After closing the book more delicately this time, she placed it on the edge of her desk and just stared solemnly at it for a moment. Yeah, it probably was time to go to bed.


	3. Chapter 3: Ooh, some new leads!

Much to Sombra's delight, Talon has just commissioned her for another job. Even though the payment from the last one was still lingering in her account, she never liked long breaks from work. She would too antsy, and would do tech binges, in which attempts to improve efficiency or performance of her equipment would often leave them separated into parts, waiting reassembly. Then another commission would come in too quickly for her to take her time putting her equipment back together, often leaving them in an equitable or even worse state than before.

Better to work prepared than not.

It looked to be a simple corporate sabotage job, at LumériCo of all places. She chuckled that the thought.

"Don't need to travel far for this one, huh?"

She read over the dossier, carefully analyzing the details of the plan. The various floor plans, the location and strength of security, the list of possible encryptions she would need to bust to gain access. Even though she's done this job three times now, it cannot be taken lightly. Every single aspect of this mission that was relevant and meaningful needed to be understood, so the proper tools and equipment could be prepared. Any reasonable contingency needed to be in place. Standard protocol. Nothing unnecessary, and everything essential. Well, plus a huge supply of witty one-liners and smugly veiled threats. Those were vital! She never understood why "Gabe" gave her such shit about it. After all, if you don't enjoy your job, why even do it in the first place?

After taking the time to get all her equipment prepped and packed, right next to the door in case of emergency and she needed to escape quickly, she took a load off and laid down on her bed. And, since she gotten used to it, she picked up her journal and a pen. It felt encouraging to be able to express herself with this little book, and for it to be routine was amazing. Really improved her "quality of life," as she saw those psych blogs called it.

 **Hey papelita! it's me, su amiga, Sombra.**

 **El día has been amazing. ¡Increíble! I just got a new gig from Talon, and it's real local. LumériCo won't know who hit them. Which is extra great cause I've hit them, like, cinco veces? Sí, cinco veces. They really need to try harder if they're gonna get me, cause right now it's just not working! Idiotas don't even have 2-factor authentication on any of their shit! That's amateur hour shit, especially for a corporation like that.**

 **Yep, it's gonna be great. Low travel, familiar place, and get to be in bed the same night. Talon's just giving me my fee on una bandeja de plata this time. Super easy.**

 **-Sombra**

Sombra finished writing down her entry and placed her notebook on the nightstand beside her bed. With a smile plastered on her face, she fell underneath the covers, secure in the knowledge that the job was going to go off without a hitch. For real, she had all her equipment ready, and was easily prepared for anything Lumérico could through at her. Everything was going to be fine.

At least, that's what she thought.


	4. Chapter 4: The Breakdown

Sombra could barely get through her security protocol in order to enter her home to avoid getting spotted. Her composure was shattered, making it hard for her to focus on entering the right passwords and passing a biometric scan. Her face, typically occupied by either a smug grin or jovial smile, was filled with panic and fear. Her eyes, red with tears which smeared her purple eyeshadow and black eyeliner, were frantically looking around, not staring at anything for more than a second. Her stance, usually upright and confident, was now slouched so that she could more easily wrap her arms around herself in an attempt at comfort.

Sombra was, frankly speaking, a mess.

"C'mon, pinche culo, open up," she stated as she slammed in her randomly generated key a second time. She could barely control her hands, let alone precisely push fucking buttons. Luckily, her poor attempts at fine motor skills this time were advantageous and the door slid up, granting her entry. Once inside, she placed her entire house on lockdown. A little extreme for what happened, but she wasn't taking any chances. She was not in the right frame of mind to deal with those fucks again. Even though it would be a bitch to deal with tomorrow, she didn't care. Resetting after a lockdown would be a cakewalk compared to what she was going through right now.

After letting her equipment slump to the floor, as well as any uncomfortable clothes, she crawled into bed, on top of the covers, as the thought of restricting herself under a blanket right now made her experience another slight panic attack in symphony of other panic attacks. She would do what she normally does when the panic attacks came: curl into the fetal position, gripping her teddy as close to her body as she could. She would ride out this episode, like she did the others, hugging her fake-furred friend, trying to think about anything comforting and calming.

However, she couldn't this time. No matter what she did, she couldn't get their faces out of her head. And closing her eyes to see their hollow eyes, sunken faces, and horrific expression was not going to help. Her bear was not helping. Nothing was helping. Nothing was fucking helping.

She sprung from her spot, in another panicked state, violently whipping her eyes all across the room, until they settled onto her notebook. In her addled mind, it was good as anything was at this moment. She frantically picked up the book and the pen she left next to it. And she tried to write as legibly as possible.

 **So, the job sucked. Sucked hard.**

 **I don't even know how to describe what went down. It was all going so smoothly until I got to the data site. I was just supposed to get in, get the data I needed, and get out. Super simple!** **I don't know what happened!**

She quickly scribbled out that last sentence, self-aware enough to realize that lying wasn't going make her feel better. It was her personal journal after all, she didn't need to lie to it. She turn the pen around and began writing again.

 **That was until I saw them. I was just scanning through relevant photo files, in case they tried to encrypt their message in an image file so it'd be harder to extract. Not impossible to crack, but it takes more effort. So, when my photo-scan tech was going through these files, one popped up that was dated about 22 years ago, when I was just 8. That's right after the omnics attacked. Right after-**

Sombra could finish that sentence as the spot was wet. She thought it was weird, until she realized where it came from. Her cheeks were stained with tears poring from her eyes, dabbing the page with wet spots. She quickly moved away from her book once she realized this fact, and touched her face in shock.

She was crying. She was fucking crying.

"¿Soy bebe? ¿Soy seis?" She spoke alough, with venom in voice. She was angry at herself by letting her emotions get to her. It's not like she hasn't dealt with this shit before. First of all, she already dealt with this shit! Yeah, her parents were fucking dead and she had to support herself by joining a fucking gang. Big deal! She did what she had to do to survive, and that baby shit was only going to hurt her in the long run. She didn't need to cry. She couldn't cry.

So, why was she?

Sombra wiped away the tears on her face, picked up her pen, and moved it below the slowly drying wet spots in her journal. After all, this journal shit calmed her down enough so she wasn't fucking paranoid.

She opened her journal up to the page that she left it on, staring at the drying tears that were on the page, in the blank spaces following her previous attempts at coping. After a bit of complentation and forced steady breaths, she picked up a pen and tried to write. However, all that she could really transfer onto the pages was a single scribbled line. Nothing was coming out. Despite how frantic her mind was at the moment, nothing could be translated onto those pages into something legible. She was just paralyzed, staring blankly at these pages as nothing meaningful came out.

And the real tears started to flow out.

These weren't the tears like before, those were comparable to a dam springing a few leaks. Those were her best attempts to not completely break down. Now, that dam had bust open. These were the kind of tears that aren't pretty, like in the movies. These weren't what people saw as a healthy or normal expression of sadness. These tears cause people to flinch away in fear, shocked to see someone so broken and vulnerable. These tears cause eyes to swell a deep red, running any makeup that could be on one's face. These tears cause the person to breathe in haphazardly, making loud gasps and gulps, as if they were choking on the very air they breathe. These are the tears of someone who has completely broken down.

And Sombra couldn't control it.

That's probably what scared her the most of this episode, unlike the others she had. She couldn't control it anymore. All her life, she had been making steps to take and maintain control. She'd join Los Muertos in to gain any semblance of control over her own life. She'd fuck over those politicians with their secrets so she could have the power to control her own fate locally. She hacked foreign governments so that she could control the world, to show that even a poor, orphan Mexican girl can be feared and respected in this harsh, cruel world. And when that pinches ojos took control away from her, she joined an internation terrorist cell to use their resources and knowledge to gain the control that she lost.

And to feel so powerless in that moment, so vulnerable to her own trauma and pain, was more than Sombra could handle. And it was causing her mind to play tricks on her. It may have been her panic-attack or her stress that was causing it, or the possible absolute terror she was experiencing, but Sombra could not believe her eyes. Sombra could definitely see her mother and father on the pages of his journal. Right there, lovingly looking at her. And despite all the circumstances, Sombra did not look away or shriek. She just stared back.

Just then, her mother spoke to her, "Olivia… ¿cómo estas, mi hija? ¿Qué pasa?"

Her father didn't give her a moment to respond when he said, "¿Estás bien, mi tramposa?"

Sombra laughed a bit, remembering the name her father bestowed upon her. She grew solemn immediately however, and responded, visably shaking, "N-no, no estoy bien, mi papá y mamá. E-es grave.

Her composure broke for a bit, as she could barely hold onto the book she was talking to. She continued, "Y-ya no sé si puedo hacerlo sin ustedes dos. S-soy cansada. S-soy triste."

Her mother, after providing a soft chastising laugh, responded to her daughter, "Oh, mi sombra. Nosotros siempre somos con ti." Her father followed, a bit more passionate and upbeat, "Nosotros siempre te amamos mucha."

Olivia looked up at them, seemingly shocked to hear such kind words that she hasn't really heard in 22 years. And before she could respond, her mother gave her another word of encouragement, "Ay… Olivia. Recuerda que te dice. 'Estamos como sombras. Siempre estamos una parte de ti, incluso cuando no puedes verlo."

And just like that, those obsessive thoughts that flooded her mind before were leaving, only to be replaced by her mother's words. And Olivia's heart soured, as the binds and chains she put there to keep her tethered and focused were removed, as she looked visiably relieved. The tears kept flowing, but this time, they were joyful tears. They were pure, like a waterfall washing away all the pain, doubt, and stress she kept buried in her soul. She felt clean. She was crying, but she was so happy.

She finally responded, "Gracias, mi papá y mama. Nos amo."

But, unfortunately, they were already gone. It figures, for sure. Of course she would go a bit loca and see her parents. But, rather than chastise herself or crack some joke, she just contently sighed. It didn't matter if they were real or not. What mattered was that the burden she was carrying was gone. She felt relieved. She felt better.

And she knew exactly what to do next. She picked up her pen as quick as she could, turning the page in the journal and started writing, confident in her words:

 **Hello, my name is** **Sombra** **Olivia Colomar. I am thirty years old, and I work for Talon as an agent in charge of espionage and data mining. I am survivor of the Omnic crisis, with no living relatives to speak of. And I don't often get to be honest about myself, as secrecy is top priority in my life and career. If this journal were to ever get out, it would spell the end of my life and career, at least I can set up a new location and new identity.**

 **However, I don't care about that at this moment. For once in my life, I'm tired of everything in my life being a lie. I want to be able to freely express how I feel and what I think without fear of repercussions. And, as far as I can tell, this journal is the best, safest way for me to do that. Plus, since I have to lie to everyone else, I figure it may be best to not lie to the only person who cares about my life: myself. In this journal, everything will be the truth. I figure I might start with this.**

 **When I was eight, the Omnics destroyed my town, my home, and something that still hurts to this day: my parents. And even though I do not resent them for what they did, the pain is still there. Alone, I joined Los Muertos to survive in the fallout and gained hacking skills to become useful to not only them, but to others as well. These skills would result in me gathering information over local government officials, before I moved on to global ones. And when a vast conspiracy in charge of everything threatened my life, I adapted like I had done before and changed who I am. And now, I work for a bigger gang, Talon, so that I can continue to use my skills to survive.**

 **However, my constant fight for survival and control only led me to think how I would be useful to people, how useful they would be to me, and how I could protect myself. I built barriers to keep others out, and my pain inside. I have never addressed it like this. I never have let myself feel sad about what happened to my family and my home, because if I did, I would have died. But now, I fear that I cannot stop building these barriers, as they are too comfortable no matter how harmful they are for me. I want to feel pain, and sadness, and vulnerable. I want to be that little girl who was allowed emotions, before I killed her with my cybernetics and sarcastic quips. I don't want to be Sombra, I want to be Olivia Colomar.**

 **But, I guess that ship has sailed, huh? A falta de pan, buenas son tortas. Sombra is the world's greatest hacker after all, and the world won't like it if I just up and quit. But, right here, in this journal, Olivia will be speaking. Si no puedo ser honesta aqui, entonces no pueda ser honesta dondequiera.**

 **-Olivia Colomar**

The journal was left open on this last entry as Olivia left the book on the nightstand. At the moment, she was staring outside her window drinking her tea. To her joy, she was able to reverse the lockdown protocol quickly this time around. And it was just in time to see the moon at it's highest point in the sky, reflecting the suns raising on the earth in a beautiful pale shade. And for once in her life, Olivia felt satisfied, and peaceful.


End file.
